


Refund Policy

by summoninglupine



Category: Kamen Rider - All Media Types, Kamen Rider Decade
Genre: Gen, Photography, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Tsukasa is so bad at his job he's good, catchphrase!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoninglupine/pseuds/summoninglupine
Summary: Hikari Studio has a no refund policy for those lacking talent.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Villain of My Own Story Exchange 2020





	Refund Policy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jen425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen425/gifts).



“You can’t get a refund,” she said firmly, slapping her hand down on the envelope before he could reach to collect it, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly in the air.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he asked.

The girl behind the counter with the perpetual scowl nodded, dark hair framing a round face, her loose, woollen jumper the colour of mustard. She was younger than him, he was sure, probably just out of high school. Maybe that was why she was so sour, he reflected.

“That’s right,” she told him, “we run a business here, not a charity.

Slowly, he slipped his hand back, tapping his index finger against the side of his face.

“Are you saying,” he paused, drawing the statement out, “that you think—?”

Angrily, she nodded, impatient with the ponderous speed at which he spoke.

“That you’re no good, that’s right.”

He raised the other eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Her expression turned even darker, her scowl becoming expressive of some kind of genuine, unresolved anger.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” she said, scooping up the envelope and tearing it open herself, yanking out the first of the printed photographs and waving it in his face, “but _this_ is not good, and you have no talent.”

He nodded slowly.

“Oh?”

“That’s right!” she said, raising her voice. “So don’t come in here asking for a refund.”

She threw the photographs down in disgust on the counter, and folded her arms over her chest, glowering at him, waiting for him to challenge her.

Without looking away, he gently reached out removed the first photograph, a blurred jumble of images, faces displaced, figures out of focus and out of frame. A moment passed as he held it up, examining the image on the paper.

“Hmm, not too bad,” he murmured at last, sliding it back into its envelope and returning his gaze to the girl behind the counter.

“Not bad?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Are you stupid?”

“Not that it doesn’t need work, but not bad for a first attempt.”

He lifted up the garish pink camera that hung on a leather strap about his neck and aimed it in her direction, lowering his eye to the viewfinder.

Swiftly, she reached across the counter and batted the camera away.

“No pictures,” she said with a scowl, and he made a scene of leaning past her, reading the sign that hung above her head.

“Hikari Studio,” he said aloud, his tone casual. 

“Yes, I know where I work,” she retorted.

“Are you Hikari?” he asked.

“I’m _a_ Hikari. The studio is my grandfather’s.” 

“And you work here?” he continued.

She bristled visibly at his questions.

“You know that.”

He nodded.

“Hmm. Maybe you should employ me too.”

Hikari Natsumi’s eyes widened further with disbelief. 

“Y-You want a job?” she stammered.

He nodded.

“You want a job _here_?”

He nodded.

“You want a job here, and these are the kind of pictures you take?”

She snatched up the envelope before he could and waved them aggressively in his face.

“You’re not qualified to work here!”

Before she could protest, he lifted the camera again, snapping a photo of her as she waved the envelope at him.

“Qualified to work here?” a voice enquired from within the studio, the curtain parting to reveal an old man with white hair and a knitted hat, his round glasses resting upon the bridge of his nose. “What a great idea! We could always use more help!”

The girl slammed the envelope down on the counter and stamped her foot.

“Grandfather!”

Smirking, he lowered his camera once again.

“I accept.”

“ _Grandfather_!” the girl in the mustard jumper protested once again, as the old man gently pushed her to one side and held his hand out.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr, ah—”

He smirked.

“Kadoya,” he said simply, “Kadoya Tsukasa. I was just passing by.”


End file.
